


The Best Revenge is Living Well

by Gulo



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Barclay is a good boy and I will die on this hill, Bonding over cats, F/M, Femdom, I'm not very good at Treknobabble so here's my best attempt, Master/Pet, Praise Kink, Second Person, interpersonal conflict! le gasp, male chastity, small penises are lovely, very brief pet death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23024125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gulo/pseuds/Gulo
Summary: Prequel to "My Pet Barclay". Barclay x fem Reader. Not as explicit as the first one but still marking it E.
Relationships: Reginald Barclay/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	The Best Revenge is Living Well

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Changed OC's name to Sherman because I decided I liked it better.

"Mistress."

He speaks the word with reverence. He looks so comfortable. His form is poised, but relaxed as he kneels. His knees touch the ground firmly, and from here he draws strength. Motionless, his hands rest on his thighs. His ribs move as he draws even breaths, but he breathes calmly enough that he does not jingle his little collar bell, nor his padlocked chastity cage, both of which he wears with abundant pride. And his face is a beatific visage of ecstasy as he gazes at you, his dark eyes swimming with passion. He stares at you but with humility, as if you were a Goddess. He'd offer his life just to be in your light. 

"Good boy, Barclay." Reaching to touch his head, he bows to accept the petting. Barclay glows with pleasure. He is your kitty, your pet, your boy. He is yours. 

***

It wasn't always so easy. 

The first day, you sidle up besides Lieutenant Reginald Barclay at the central engineering station and smile at him obliquely. "Hi. How are you?"

Barclay looks at you with the expression of a Bolian deer in bike headlights before stammering something utterly unintelligible and quickly scurrying off, away somewhere completely unknown.

"Weirdo, isn't he? I heard he's a total perv." You remember Lieutenant Sherman sliding by you to mutter this, but wisely choose to ignore it and his halitosis.

The second day, you sneak up to Barclay at the station on his other side, hoping to perhaps subvert his exit. "Hi Barclay. How's it going?"

This time he barely looks up from the panel, but again Barclay stammers and stutters. Yet, this time, he managed to make himself a bit more articulate. "I... uh... I... hello! Ah. I'm fine, thank you. And yourself?"

He sticks around just long enough for you to say you were fine before he nods perfunctorily and flees, this time in the other direction.

It takes a minute for Sherman to find you again, but this time he's wearing a smirk you couldn't ignore. "Broccoli again? If he bothers you, just let me know." Well, you can't ignore it. But you could very well not respond. And as you spun in a heel toward the tube hatch, you hear Sherman snicker.

You give Barclay a break to think. Two more days later, you wait until he's properly sat at a terminal, looking like he's hard at work on a task. But since it's close to the end of shift, the timing is ideal. You slip into the next seat over with no intention of working and let the chair spin casually a bit. "Hey Barclay. You hungry?"

"Umm. Hello. Er, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Me too. Want to hit Ten Forward after shift and eat together?" 

And after a great deal of stammering on his part, he eventually manages to string enough words together to agree to meet. When you part ways you catch a glimpse of Sherman's stinkeye, but he refrains from commenting.

You notice Barclay drinking his Starduster a little too fast. Gradually the stammering begins to flatten out, but not by much. It's tough keeping eye contact, and you notice him perspiring. For a while it feels like he's being overly polite and formal whilst counting down the minutes. But when you both find out you're cat lovers, that's when _everything changes._ He instantly comes out of his shell and tells you everything about his old friends.

"I still miss my Boogs," he sighs sadly, looking down at his empty drink. 

"I know. I lost Romeo year before last, still miss him. Always will." You take the opportunity to offer him a sympathetic hand, caressing the top of his own with yours. "Oh my gosh. Your fingers are like ice." Barclay can only stare as you unwrap his hands from around the drinking glass to fold them into your own for warmth. A red hot blush appears on his face. You just offer him a smile of simple warmth. "But I know what's good for that! Would you like to stop by? You can meet Jazzy! She's very friendly."

During the first half of that proposition he seems to panic. But then your suggestion to meet the kitten brightens his face like a fresh new spring dawn. It's the first time you have ever seen Barclay smile like that. He looks so full of life and joy, you think you're already falling in love a little. 

***

The moment you both walk in, Jazzy is trilling with her tail held high. Barclay gasps in wonderment of the long-haired dilute calico tabby, and already he's reaching out his hand for her to sniff. "Hello, beautiful! Hi! Hiiii!" he coos right back at her, the most confident you've seen him. He knows exactly how to pet her; he moves slowly and fluidly, first offering fingertips, then following her cues as her fluffy body winds around him. Jazzy stops only to change course to greet you instead, offering a "mrrt". Barclay gives a little laugh.

"Hey, Jazzy-girl. I've got a new friend. Isn't he nice?" You rub her ear until she's leaning into it, then shakes herself out, then strides right back over to Barclay. The man seems to blush as if flattered, but doesn't miss a beat to resume petting.

"Can I offer you something?" you ask by the replicator. 

"Ah, um, tea, please," Barclay replies. He seems to be very glad to have an animal to pet so that he's not wringing his hands. 

Now that you both have hot steaming mugs of comforting herbal blend, you gesture to the sofa. Barclay sits, wedged into the corner. He appears fully invested in warming his hands with the tea and inhaling its fragrance. But after your chatting in Ten Forward, he seems a little subdued; why fill the air with needless talk? "Hey, I've got an idea. There's a new documentary on ocean life I've been meaning to watch. Earth oceans, I mean. Shall I put it on? A little home away from home?"

"Sure," Barclay hints at another tiny smile. 

You find the program on your PADD, throw it to the viewscreen, and relax back, treated to loads of excellent footage of seas and glaciers, coral reefs and beaches, and of course, a plethora of animal life. And speaking of creatures, about twenty minutes into the show, Jazzy wanders along the top of the sofa, climbs down around Barclay and settles into his lap in a relaxed loaf. "OH. WELL now. She likes youuuu," you tease. Barclay blushes again when you notice, and he makes sure to do this gift justice, by doling out many soft, caressing strokes to Jazzy's ears, chin, neck ruff, and swishing tail. "Look at this glorious tail," you hear him whisper at some point. 

However, Jazzy's visit has a timer, and once Barclay's tea has run out, so has her attention. As soon as he sets the empty mug down on the coffee table the cat leaps away, and you take advantage of the opportunity to sneak across the couch and fill Barclay's lap instead. The man stiffens at first, shocked and thrown for a loop. You flash him your most innocent, sweetest smile before settling in snugly. But eventually Barclay's body relaxes, he lets his arms encircle your shoulders, and you start to melt together. Now when something interesting happens on screen you can mutter about it to each other and it feels intimate. 

But you can tell just from his body language -- it was obvious before and it's even more clear as day now -- from the way he holds himself, his air, the cautious and very gentle way he embraces you, that Barclay is a complete submissive. Eventually he threw off an incredible heat and you could feel just barely-contained sexual energy radiating from him. Despite how strong it was, you were comfortable with it. You knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that despite its intensity, Barclay would _never_ act on it, not without your express permission, or instigation. You just knew this. It was obvious, really.

So when the show had finished and you were feeling very sleepy, you decide to give him a smidge of that permission by offering a drowsy kiss, which Barclay reciprocates curiously, but just as carefully as you expect him to. 

When you pull away, he looks a little dazed. "What do you think?"

"I-I-I'd better, ah, get to bed," he stammers hard, stands, makes his way to the door. "But thank you for, for the lovely evening, really, th-thanks." And he vanishes. 

What just happened? You made yourself available. Everything was going fine. What could possibly cause the man to run away like that? Was he not attracted? But he seemed to enjoy the kiss. He just didn't want to say so. Did you do something wrong? 

He avoided you next shift whenever possible, and any communication was strictly professional. In fact, this went on for several days. 

You decide to see the Counselor and although you never mention him by name, a certain glimmer in her eye lets you know she had caught on. This was her advice: "I can sense you're sincere about him. I think he'll be worth your while. You'll just have to be very, very patient."

Clearly, this was the only choice. 

***

For the next week, it's work as usual. Barclay seemed to be gradually calming down and resuming his normal demeanor. In fact there were a few instances of banter. But he especially keeps his distance when Sherman is around, and you start to figure out why. Sherman was giving you serious vibes. Not the good ones. 

"Computer, display all recent data."

" _That data does not exist."_

"What? Computer, display data from past day's diagnostic analysis."

_"That data does not exist."_

"Hm. Reg, mind giving me a hand with this? There's some data I've lost. Not sure why it's confused." 

Sometimes when someone interrupts Barclay from his ongoing task, he responds by sulking. He never does that with you. At once Barclay turns his attention from his station to your own, and you offer him the console. With a few keystrokes you see him enable something. "There," he mutters discreetly, "I unhid the files. I didn't want anyone tampering with my notes." His voice is low and he doesn't gesture, but with Sherman at his own console across engineering, you instantly know what's going on. 

"Thanks. Yeah, working fine now." You spend a moment cross-examining some of the data, then pause. "Hey, would you like to hang out again?" Offering no pretense, you turn to watch his expressions run from hot to cold. 

"Um, yes, that is I..." he begins to answer too quickly, and you can sense a ramble coming on which is immediately cut short when Sherman looms over the both of your seats.

"Heyyy! That's the analysis I was trying to look at this morning. Why's it working now?" He frowns deeply as he looks at the screen, then between the both of you. "Did you restrict my access?"

Barclay averts his eyes, making himself suddenly busy at his panel again. His voice is tremulous and soft. "No, it wasn't security. I hid it from everyone. I wanted to make sure it was accurate before cross-checking."

You're frozen with fear as you can palpably feel Sherman's body tensing up. He's giving off this wave of anger that he knows he can't act on because technically Barclay wasn't witholding any information, nor was it terribly crucial. So he turns mean instead, his tone deceptively, mockingly amiable. "Huh. Funny. Going on another date tonight, you two? Hot holodeck sexytimes?"

"What?" you spin in your seat to confront him. "I beg your pardon? I'm pretty sure that's none of your business."

"Right. It's probably not. Even though I already know everything. Why even bother? He's probably already fucked your hologram." He chuckles derisively.

The shock of it all leaves you speechless. It's only you three in engineering so the ensuing silence is oppressive. But eventually, Barclay closes his task, rises from his seat, and approaches Sherman to say calmly, "No, I haven't. And I'll have you know I've never done anything sexual in the holodeck. Other things yes, but never that far. I practiced romance -- the hard part. Moreover, the Lieutenant is free to date whomever she wishes. And so am I. And you can k-kindly mind your own b-business." Then, once more, Barclay flees. He swiftly exits to the turbolift.

Sherman turns to you and before another word can tumble out of his stupid mug you command, "Spare me. I'm going with the guy who knows what's important to practice," leaving him in the dust to go your own separate way for a coffee break.

*** 

When shift is over, you realize you hadn't seen Barclay again that day, and to that end you tap your combadge. "Barclay, you busy?"

"No. I'm just at home."

"Can I stop by?"

"...Okay."

You drop by Barclay's quarters and the door opens to you. You find him sitting on his couch, forlorn. When Barclay's nervous he has a habit of wringing his hands. Here at home, he keeps them busy by playing with a piece of polymer clay. At the moment he's shaping it into something bulbous and formless. He has a hard time looking you in the eye. "You must think I'm... really a mess." He smiles in kind of a fake way, as if he feels like he should be smiling even though he doesn't want to.

"Is it true?" You take a seat next to him carefully.

"Yes. Wait. What I said? About the holodeck? Yes." He busies his hands by pushing some fingertips into the clay to make random indentations. "I know people didn't like it. And I... I understand why. But I never..." he pushes knuckles into the clay to smash it into his palm. 

You touch his shoulder, and his face crumples. He wearily puts the clay down on the coffee table and puts his head in his hands. Your arm goes around his shoulders more fully. In the next few moments, realizing that no judgement or criticism is coming from you, Barclay slowly relaxes, and leans back against you. It's then that he begins to weep, and you watch him with concern. 

Yes, real tears rim his red eyes, he sniffles and even whimpers. For a while you say nothing, just sitting comfortably with him, and occasionally offering a caress to his hair or face. Finally he speaks again. "I'm the one who figures out what's wrong with things. But I can't figure out what's wrong with me. I don't know what you see in me. You don't want to date me. You'd just be doing it out of pity."

"Now, Reg." You let sternness come into your voice. "That's not fair to me. It's not. You can't just choose for me how I feel. You said so yourself earlier -- I'm free to date whomever I choose. Right? So long as it's mutual, of course." He responds with a weak smile, and you continue, "Thank you. For standing up for me. And I'm glad you stood up for yourself. You did well." He shakes his head vigorously, humble, and you counter by frisking his shoulders. "You did! Sherman will think twice about doing that again. That's good, right?"

Barclay sighs.

"And, really, there's a lot to like about you. What I know so far. You're very sensitive and empathetic and... I really like that."

His expression lights up. He doesn't quite smile, but he does look right at you, scrutinizing the way you smile at him. 

"I believe you..."

"Mhm. And you're so expressive." As you stroke his wispy blond hair back, you catch him simper. His tears drying, you now notice a blush on his cheeks. He's like a schoolboy in his shyness. You can't help but kiss one of those cheeks, and then he looks at you square-on, with a more serious expression. His lips touch yours, and you have to suppress your smile to kiss him back. 

"You can't run away now. We're in your home. So, the worst you can do is kick me out. Are you gonna do that, Reg?" 

"N-no. You can stay... if you want."

"I want to stay with you." You cuddle up to his side, and he folds a hand over your arm about his middle. "What do you want to do? Let's not go to the holodeck. Let's not go anywhere. We can just stay here, and use our imagination."

"I'm good at that," he simpers again. 

Grinning, "You know what they say about a guy with a big imagination..."

"Um." Barclay blushes very warm.

"So did you ever do anything with my hologram?"

"Nnno. That... that was all before I met you. It's been a few years now, since I did anything like that."

"I see. So now this is your trial by fire. No practice except right now. Will you show me your bedroom?"

Barclay shrugs and seems to take this in stride. You wonder how this could possibly be his reaction. Were you just a little too casual in your wording, or is he still emotionally shot? For whatever reason, he stands so he can lead the way and casually present his sleeping quarters. You're very amused and enchanted to see it nicely decorated, with art and plants, a small collection of cute stuffed animals on the bed (mostly cats, but you spot a tardigrade), and... a reasonable variety of sex toys nonchalantly on display on top of his dresser. Oh my. You're not sure what your eyes should linger on first, though the upright purple dildo is the clear winner. 

You turn to him and begin to disrobe, undoing the zipper in the back of your tunic top. It falls away, allowing you to lift your undershirt. Utterly dumbfounded, Barclay merely watches, and now that you're topless, he can only accept you back into his embrace with trepidation. His kiss is warm and a little excited, yet confused. You slow down and pet his cheek. "Reg, I want you."

Expressions war on his face. He looks as though 10 different replies cycle through his head, all of which he shoots down. Finally, he cringes hard, his hands let go of you and go to his waist. He's screwing up his courage. He's totally red in the face. But like ripping off a bandage, he pushes his trousers and underwear down all at once. Still cringing, he looks away so you can assess him.

And it pleases you. It's such a nice, neat package. It's lovely. His little penis rests at ease over a tidy coinpurse. You coo softly the moment you see it, "Oooh~," and reach to pet it, as if it were a little creature. His cock looks vulnerable, but it's protected, and you run your fingers with care over the loose skin. "It's beautiful." It starts to come alive at your touch, which is satisfying. Barclay gasps, his spine and shoulders stiff, his fingers at his sides working without purchase, and his face is flushed and sweating a bit. He's even trembling a little, but when you sidle closer in, and tilt up your head, he cautiously returns another kiss. 

He's still stiff as a board, as if the Sword of Damocles will fall at any moment. But he helps you get the rest of his uniform off, then ventures, "S-so I'm... n-not... too small?"

"Reg," your hands wander his body, one still cupping him, where his erection is growing, "it's as beautiful as the rest of you. It's a beautiful penis. Really. It's a perfect shape. And besides, it's getting bigger already." Truthfully, Reg is a bit of a grower -- he just had to be relaxed first. 

But his growing hunger surfaces too. He suddenly refuses to let all the attention be on him. It's a breath of fresh air when he takes you in his arms for a more passionate kiss, lets his hot calloused hands wander your own form, and then spin you about to bend you over the bed, so he can pull your leggings down, and ravenously eat out your pussy and ass. 

You make love with him sitting astride his lap, and he rolls with you in easy rhythm, a man dying of thirst who's found an oasis of clear blue water that he can drink deeply from and finally be quenched.

***

A few days and a few dates later.

"Would you like to submit to me, Reg?"

"Wh...wh-wh-what?"

"Would you like to submit to me, while I dominate you? Take care of you? Would you be my pet? Is that what you're looking for?"

Barclay's mouth hangs open. He stammers a great deal before finally finding the words, "I-I-I have had m-many dreams like this. H-how.... how... how did you know?" he forces casualness with a dramatic lilt to his voice.

"I just knew," you reply simply. "It's your biggest fantasy, isn't it? Your sincerest wish, hm? To be a pretty lady's pet?"

Barclay swallows hard. "It's what I want more than anything in the world." He nuzzles your hand as you caress his cheek, absolutely love-starved. "I would happily serve you, as your pet," he whispers in earnest. He goes on to explain, "It's something the holodeck could never fulfill for me. The holodeck is capable of learning a user's preferences, but... it's incapable of ... real empathy, or intimacy. It-it can't really simulate the Domination/submission experience. Certainly... it is one thing to... to play out certain scenarios from a sense of egotism, or even... to the practical ends of problem-solving. But devotion, loyalty, worship...?" 

You nod, "These things must be shared between fully sentient beings to be truly meaningful."

Brightly, Barclay nods back.

***

You pick out a chastity cage together, and he starts wearing the it with great zeal. It's no hardship, and he thinks almost nothing of it, except the sense of coziness and security it lends him. It becomes a part of his routine. He can piss through it with relative ease and after it just takes a quick wipe and a thorough handwash as always. The sonic makes showers easy. Otherwise there's the occasional lubing for extra comfort, but the day to day is virtually uninterrupted. Whilst locked, Barclay's life goes on in blissful mundanity; time he normally spent fantasizing, or in anxiety, is put toward more focused and productive means; not for lack of horniness or worry, but more to the point because he's much less lonely than usual. Now he has a sense of purpose, someone to connect to who stimulates him much more than any simple distracting game.

There was that one time he fingered you to sweet climax in the tube.... It was worth Sherman very nearly catching you. 

Otherwise, it's your little secret. 

~<3~


End file.
